Day 1: Falconry or Bust
RFK Jr. kicks things off with a national decree: mandatory falconry lessons for every citizen. Why? Because “birds are the future of communication,” and he’s convinced that emails and texting are poisoning our souls with electromagnetic vibes. Pigeons, however, are banned outright for being “too mainstream” and “sellouts to Big Grain.” Picture suburban dads awkwardly clutching falcons in their backyards, muttering, “I just wanted to send a quick memo, not train a raptor.”
Day 2: Crystals Over Shots
Next up, vaccines are outlawed faster than you can say “herd immunity.” In their place? “Immunity-boosting” crystals handed out by government-appointed shamans. Caught sneaking a flu shot? That’s a one-way ticket to a 10-year sentence of hot yoga in a hemp-lined gulag. Hospitals are now “wellness sanctuaries” where doctors are replaced with aromatherapists spritzing lavender oil at your measles. Good luck, folks—hope your chakras are aligned!
Day 3: McMeditation Madness
Fast food? Gone. RFK Jr. declares it a public health crisis and torches every drive-thru in sight. But don’t worry, McDonald’s gets reborn as “McMeditation” centers. The menu? Kale smoothies, quinoa bowls, and a side of existential dread. Supersize your mindfulness for an extra $2! Meanwhile, burger smugglers form underground rings, trading Big Macs for contraband plastic straws. Fries become the new black-market currency.
Day 4: The Great Disconnect
By now, RFK Jr.’s environmental streak goes full tilt. He turns the White House into a giant Faraday cage to block all “toxic” wi-fi waves. The internet? Replaced with a nationwide network of interpretive dance signals. Want to Google something? Better start pirouetting your question to the neighbor, who’ll twirl it along to the next guy. Productivity tanks, but at least we’re all super grounded—literally and figuratively.
The Everyday Chaos
Life under RFK Jr.’s rule gets weirder by the minute. Cars are banned in favor of barefoot horseback riding (horseshoes are deemed “cruel”), so rush hour is just a dusty stampede of sore-footed ponies. All clothing must be 100% hemp, leading to a nation of itchy, tie-dye-wearing citizens. And forget supermarkets—RFK Jr. mandates biodynamic farming, where crops are planted by the phases of the moon. Spoiler: food shortages hit hard when half the harvest is sacrificed to appease the “earth spirits.”
The Rebellion Begins
Naturally, people start cracking. A rogue coalition of scientists, farmers, and Fry Guys forms an underground resistance. They smuggle in banned treasures like plastic water bottles, penicillin, and—gasp—seedless grapes (RFK Jr. insists seeds are “nature’s will”). Secret raves pop up where rebels chug Mountain Dew and blast wi-fi signals in defiance. The dictator’s falcon spies swoop overhead, but they’re too busy squawking at contraband pigeons to notice.
The Grand Finale
How does it end? Maybe RFK Jr.’s brainworm stages a coup and declares itself emperor. Or perhaps he gazes out at the chaos—falcons pooping on Capitol Hill, citizens limping on barefoot ponies, kale riots in the streets—and decides, “Eh, maybe I overdid it.” He steps down, retreats to an off-grid yurt, and leaves us with one last decree: “Namaste, suckers.” The economy’s toast, but at least we’ve got some killer abs from all that yoga
Just a concept to discuss ..
above is an example but I expect better from TheColi
RFK Jr. kicks things off with a national decree: mandatory falconry lessons for every citizen. Why? Because “birds are the future of communication,” and he’s convinced that emails and texting are poisoning our souls with electromagnetic vibes. Pigeons, however, are banned outright for being “too mainstream” and “sellouts to Big Grain.” Picture suburban dads awkwardly clutching falcons in their backyards, muttering, “I just wanted to send a quick memo, not train a raptor.”
Day 2: Crystals Over Shots
Next up, vaccines are outlawed faster than you can say “herd immunity.” In their place? “Immunity-boosting” crystals handed out by government-appointed shamans. Caught sneaking a flu shot? That’s a one-way ticket to a 10-year sentence of hot yoga in a hemp-lined gulag. Hospitals are now “wellness sanctuaries” where doctors are replaced with aromatherapists spritzing lavender oil at your measles. Good luck, folks—hope your chakras are aligned!
Day 3: McMeditation Madness
Fast food? Gone. RFK Jr. declares it a public health crisis and torches every drive-thru in sight. But don’t worry, McDonald’s gets reborn as “McMeditation” centers. The menu? Kale smoothies, quinoa bowls, and a side of existential dread. Supersize your mindfulness for an extra $2! Meanwhile, burger smugglers form underground rings, trading Big Macs for contraband plastic straws. Fries become the new black-market currency.
Day 4: The Great Disconnect
By now, RFK Jr.’s environmental streak goes full tilt. He turns the White House into a giant Faraday cage to block all “toxic” wi-fi waves. The internet? Replaced with a nationwide network of interpretive dance signals. Want to Google something? Better start pirouetting your question to the neighbor, who’ll twirl it along to the next guy. Productivity tanks, but at least we’re all super grounded—literally and figuratively.
The Everyday Chaos
Life under RFK Jr.’s rule gets weirder by the minute. Cars are banned in favor of barefoot horseback riding (horseshoes are deemed “cruel”), so rush hour is just a dusty stampede of sore-footed ponies. All clothing must be 100% hemp, leading to a nation of itchy, tie-dye-wearing citizens. And forget supermarkets—RFK Jr. mandates biodynamic farming, where crops are planted by the phases of the moon. Spoiler: food shortages hit hard when half the harvest is sacrificed to appease the “earth spirits.”
The Rebellion Begins
Naturally, people start cracking. A rogue coalition of scientists, farmers, and Fry Guys forms an underground resistance. They smuggle in banned treasures like plastic water bottles, penicillin, and—gasp—seedless grapes (RFK Jr. insists seeds are “nature’s will”). Secret raves pop up where rebels chug Mountain Dew and blast wi-fi signals in defiance. The dictator’s falcon spies swoop overhead, but they’re too busy squawking at contraband pigeons to notice.
The Grand Finale
How does it end? Maybe RFK Jr.’s brainworm stages a coup and declares itself emperor. Or perhaps he gazes out at the chaos—falcons pooping on Capitol Hill, citizens limping on barefoot ponies, kale riots in the streets—and decides, “Eh, maybe I overdid it.” He steps down, retreats to an off-grid yurt, and leaves us with one last decree: “Namaste, suckers.” The economy’s toast, but at least we’ve got some killer abs from all that yoga
Just a concept to discuss ..
above is an example but I expect better from TheColi
